“I don’t get modern art,” says Officer Dwight “Bucky” Bleichert (Josh Harnett), contemplating an abstract painting in one of The Black Dahlia’s last scenes.
This line concisely sums up why, in the final act of this potentially great film, it fades into a cluttered and contrived mess.
Eerie, creative, and very lovely to look at, it is consistently vibrant and very beautiful. But if you like to understand the films you watch, you will leave the theatre frustrated and nursing a very sour headache.
Adapted from the novel by James Ellroy (L.A. Confidential), and based on the 1947 murder of Elizebeth Short, The Black Dahlia chronicles her life and death, and speculates about those the mystery concerned, and eventually consumed.
Beaten and tortured, with her face carved to resemble the grin of a grotesque clown, Short’s death is one of the most brutal crimes in Hollywood history. After killing her, the murderer then washed away her blood, disemboweled her and bisected the corpse.
A woman and her three-year-old daughter discovered Short’s halves, dumped on an embankment alongside a residential street. One of Hollywood’s most notorious unsolved mysteries had begun.
As a speculative thriller, The Black Dahlia leaves fact on the autopsy table, preferring to invent a myriad of little subplots, twists, turns, and detours in an attempt to make their contrived plot logical. It ultimately fails.
The two detectives on the case, Bleichert and his amphetamine binging partner, Sgt. Leland “Lee” Blanchard (Aaron Eckhart), are the same clich good-cop / bad cop team that have been recycled from scores of previous films.
With their clich chemistry, complicated by a gorgeous blonde ex-prostitute (Scarlett Johansson), they are borrowed straight from L.A. Confidential (1997). Also, with look-a-likes of movie stars, police corruption, gritty noir style, and similarly talented casts, the two films could be fraternal twins.
Like twins, one is inevitable superior. In the shadow of greatness, with elder siblings such as L.A. Confidential and the quintessential film-noir murder mystery, Sunset Blvd. (1950), Black Dahlia was never given a chance to shine.
It could have, at least, been adequate.
The film quickly dissolves into a chaotic and confusing story. Lee, jacked up on Benzedrine and consumed by his own sinister secrets, becomes infatuated with the case and drags Bucky reluctantly along with him. As they exhaust leads, pursue suspects, and delve deeply into Elizabeth’s dark past, they must confront the controversy and danger lurking behind the glamorous Hollywood veneer.
Mimicking the traditional film-noir techniques and motifs, De Palma fills his visually splendid tale with dim lighting, narration, Hollywood glamour, soft focus, murder, betrayal and seduction — lots of seduction.
Its lavish noir-style feels operatic at times, especially during the more disturbing scenes. With a combination of vibrant and dark colors, soft focus, and a hodgepodge of innovative camera moves, it achieves some of the grit and grandeur of noir. And, evoking the true spirit of noir, the film full of beautiful people smoking cigarettes.
Unfortunately, the vivid visuals, superb stars, and noir novelty could not save The Black Dahlia. After 90 minutes of cheesy acting and monotonous monologues, it deteriorates into a contrived mishmash of unknown characters, random acts of sex, and unnecessary violence.
In one of the final scenes of The Black Dahlia, De Palma includes a scene lifted directly from the climax of Sunset Blvd. A crazed and obviously inebriated older woman, confused by her immense wealth and status in the sinister world of Hollywood glamour, stands on a staircase concealing a gun. Ranting incoherently and murderously, with concerned witnesses looking on, this scene makes sense of the film’s pitfalls.
Cheesy, boring, and nonsensical, it embodies everything bad from over 50 years of film-noir. With only a handful of pretty images, it barely taps into the good.Rated R for language, brutal violence, disturbing images, and steamy sexual content.